


Take a Bottle

by hdarchive



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skank!Kurt is paired up with Blaine for the baby project in Home Ec.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely the hardest project I ever had to do in high school. And then we pictured skank!kurt and thought, ‘lets give him and Blaine a fake baby!’ Thanks to [kurtfer](http://tmblr.co/maAmn2q3y65918-e9lmxGiw) and [amemorymaze](http://tmblr.co/mV9KO2EyVOQ1qQB9EbqesDA) for the inspiration.

He’s only late to Home Ec by six minutes, but unfortunately for Kurt he missed the six most crucial minutes of the entire class.

Everyone’s been paired up, babies already given out.

If he knew today was the day they’d be assigned partners he would have showed up early, anything to escape being paired up with him. But he’s the only one left.

Kurt sits at his table and sighs, crossing his arms and glaring at Blaine. It’s not that he hates Blaine, he just can’t stand him, something about him like sandpaper against the backs of his hands.

He only took this class because Quinn said it was an easy A. 

“I can’t believe this,” Kurt gripes, eyes now pointed at the robotic baby doll in Blaine’s arms.

Blaine rocks the baby gently, as if it were real, and says quietly, “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, but we have a responsibility now to be the best parents we can be.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, propping his chin up off the table with his hand and sneers, “I’m sorry, too.”

Blaine turns to face Kurt and offers the baby towards him. “Do you want to hold her?”

“It’s not a _her_ , Blaine,” Kurt bites, leaning further away in his seat from him. “It’s a robot baby.”

Blaine shrugs, goes back to rocking her. “She needs a name. Any suggestions? I was thinking something historical, somebody to pay homage to.”

“I don’t care.” He bends over to rest against the table, closes his eyes and thinks, then says, “Cannelloni.”

Blaine asks, appalled, “You want to name our baby after pasta?”

“I’m hungry,” he says dismissively. 

He opens one eye, squints up at Blaine, who’s looking at their baby like it could actually be real, like he actually cares for it.

“Fine,” Blaine sighs, then smiles affectionately at the doll. “Little Loni.”

-

It won’t shut up. He considers putting duct tape over her mouth or leaving her in the middle of the football field and running away. But he really wants a good grade in this class, he can’t imagine the disappointment and humiliation of failing when it’s supposed to be _easy_.

Nothing about this is easy. It sounds like he’s torturing her, and for the past hour people have given him sharp looks or strange glances because he’s been carrying around a crying fake baby, and he doesn’t look like the kind of person to be carrying around a baby of any variety.

He sits underneath the bleachers with Quinn, mostly to be away from prying eyes, but also hoping she has a trick to get the baby to stop.

“When do they stop?” Kurt asks, drained, holding his head in his hands as he rocks her car seat with his foot.

She wails, her cry the noise a cat makes when you step on its tail.

Quinn snickers, joining him by putting her boot on the edge of the car seat. “They don’t.”

“How do I get it to shut up?”

“You can’t.”

They rock her faster, the baby’s cry somehow increasing in volume, and Kurt stops breathing for a long moment, has to, or else he might pick her up and throw her.

“Do I feed it?” he asks frantically, taking her out of the car seat to cradle her close, imitating the way Blaine held her earlier. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t have the first clue of how to feed her or change her or make her happy, and it scares him in ways he won’t admit. If it were a real baby . . .

“Where’s Blaine?” Quinn asks, blowing cigarette smoke through her lips. “Shouldn’t he be helping you?”

Kurt says, annoyed, “He has gym class and didn’t want to risk hitting her with a dodgeball.”

“Ah,” Quinn says, tapping the end of her cigarette, ashes fluttering to the ground. “Real partnership you have going on here.”

“This project is so pointless,” he sighs, ignoring the ache in his arms from holding her. She’s heavy after awhile, not something he expected from a fake baby. “It’s not like Blaine and I can get anyone pregnant.”

Arms tiring, he continues to rock her, and after a few moments, the cries quiet down. They don’t stop, not completely, because she keeps whimpering every few seconds, but it’s almost tranquil, and his heart feels calm.

Until Quinn leans over, blowing out a stream of white smoke, slowly, aiming it right at his baby’s face.

“Watch it!” He jerks her away, her cries starting back up, and jumps to his feet. He grabs her diaper bag, slinging it over his shoulder and picking up the car seat, then starts to walk away.

“Calm down, Kurt,” Quinn yells after him. “It’s not real!”

“I don’t care,” he shouts over his shoulder. “If you wouldn’t do it to your own baby, don’t do it to mine.”

-

He’s doomed. Cursed even, for being so nice. He’s the one that raised his hand and said, _‘I’ll be Kurt’s partner!’_ when the teacher said, _‘Looks like Hummel will have to do this one alone.’_

Why did he do that? It’s not like Kurt’s ever been nice to him. It’s honestly a surprise that Kurt even remembers his name.

He’s going to have the worst grade in the whole class. Maybe in the whole history of this project. Because by now, their baby probably has three piercings and a tattoo that says ‘no regrets’.

When he gets out of gym class, Kurt’s waiting on the floor by his locker, head tipped back and eyes closed, car seat next to him. Their baby is - well, not crying, but screaming.

He quickly walks over, seeing now that Kurt’s rocking the car seat in a rhythm that seems to be practiced. He sits down next to him and says, “I think the point of the project is to prove how hard it is going to class with a baby. Meaning, you have to go to class.”

Eyes still closed, Kurt mutters, “She wouldn’t stop crying. I got kicked out.”

“Have you tried feeding her?”

“Yes, she just keeps - _crying_.” Kurt sounds on the verge of hysterics, voice close to breaking.

Blaine thinks, and hums, “Maybe her diaper needs changing.”

Kurt sits up, eyes opening wide, and snaps, “I am _not_ changing her diaper here in the hallway.”

He sighs, takes a turn in rocking her. “Then come on, let’s go to my house. Maybe my mom can help.”

-

“TAKE HER BATTERIES OUT.”

Blaine is screaming, _screaming_ , from across the room, fingers in his ears and eyes wide in horror.

Kurt screams back, “You can’t! Everything we do with this damn robot gets recorded!”

Despite Blaine’s enthusiasm, his mom was absolutely no help in stopping their baby’s cries, claiming that Blaine was a _‘perfect angel’_ and stating that _‘he never once cried, not even when I dropped him!’_

Tufts of Blaine’s hair are standing on end, the gel picked apart from the constant pulling. This is the first official day and there are circles forming under Blaine’s eyes, and Kurt imagines he must look similar.

Blaine presses his palms to his eyes, mutters to his wrists, “- make her stop please -”

“Here!” Kurt spits, marching across the room and dropping the baby in Blaine’s arms. “You try!”

They must have a defect baby. Something must have malfunctioned at whatever factory they make these creepy things, or maybe the previous students spilled water on it. There’s no other explanation for why they can’t make her stop, why they can’t take care of her. Babies can’t actually be this hard.

He sits down on Blaine’s bed, watches with tired eyes as Blaine gently swings the baby, trying desperately to get her to drink from the bottle.

“Come on little Loni,” Blaine sings sweetly, breathlessly, flashing a smile at Kurt when her cries quiet into whimpers. “ _Please eat, please sleep, please stop crying._ ”

Kurt rubs at his eyelids, feeling stress like cement in every bone. He wants to go home and apologize to his dad for whatever he may have done as an infant. He wants to personally go around town and shake the hand of every parent he comes across.

“Lesson learned. Never have children.”

“I don’t think most babies are like this. I think this baby is the antichrist.”

“Don’t call our baby satan, Blaine.”

Blaine huffs, then coos at the baby, “I’m sorry little Loni, daddy’s sorry. But other daddy is going to hold you now so that this daddy can go eat.”

Blaine smiles softly at Kurt as he hands her over, and the word - something about the word wraps around Kurt’s heart and squeezes it. He stares at Blaine, mouth slightly open, unable to think of a response.

“I’ll be right back,” Blaine says to him. “Did you want anything?”

Kurt shakes his head, still stunned, still tongue-tied. “No - no, I’m good.”

It’s hard to tell if she’s still crying or if it’s just an imprint in his brain. His arms are sore, his head hurts, but - it’s kind of nice. To have this partnership, to be in this with someone, even if that someone is Blaine . .

He could really go for a cigarette, because all his hair is close to falling out, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It doesn’t feel as necessary now.

So he sings instead, a song that’s been stuck in his head since he heard it on the radio this morning. Just a quiet whisper, in case his voice startles her back into a screaming match, but it seems to work, seems to soothe her, her whimpers eventually fading into snores.

He laughs weakly, his smile coming through so hard it hurts, and he thinks he feels tears prick at his eyes. She’s asleep, _she’s asleep_. For a half second he contemplates calling for Blaine, but he waits, keeps singing, “ _Take a bottle, shake it up. Break the bubble, break it up -_ ”

“Are you singing Def Leppard to our baby?” Blaine asks from the doorway.

Kurt looks up briefly and smiles, then whispers, “ _Shh_ , it’s working.”

Blaine laughs the way Kurt did, tearfully and overwhelmed, and he sits down on the bed next to him and places a hand on his back. They both just stare at her, awestruck and wide-eyed.

Blaine says, “I can take her if your arms are tired.”

They are, but he just can’t bring himself to hand her over, so he says, quietly, “No, it’s okay.”

-

In Home Ec the next day, Kurt comes in carrying a small bag. He’s never looked so happy before, not while Blaine’s known him at least. And he doesn’t look away when Blaine meets his eyes, doesn’t scowl when Blaine smiles at him, and sometimes, if Blaine’s lucky, he smiles back.

Kurt sits down and turns to him, says excitedly, “Look what I found.”

He opens the bag, pulling out a small black hat with a skeleton face on the front, sized perfectly for a baby.

“Where did . . I don’t think we had to buy her clothes, Kurt,” he says, eyeing the hat skeptically.

Kurt shrugs, taking off their baby’s old hat and slipping on the new one. “We’re supposed to treat it like a real baby, right? Well no child of mine is wearing whatever abomination this is. Look what else I found.”

Blaine’s about to ask _‘what?’_ when Kurt hands him the bag, Blaine hesitant to open it.

It’s a white onesie with a light blue bowtie printed underneath the collar.

Blaine’s heart - melts. He inhales desperately, trying to solidify the liquid puddle of love in his chest, tries not to do something stupid like squeak.

“This might just be the cutest thing I have - _Kurt! What on earth is that?_ ”

Kurt’s in the process of changing her, but Blaine bats his hand away, staring in horror at the black ink marking up their baby’s tiny bicep.

“It’s a rose,” Kurt says calmly, throwing a sideways glance at Blaine before he continues changing her. “Relax, it’s washable.”

Blaine licks at his thumb, frantically rubbing the ink off. “She’s too young to be getting ideas like this from you. Next you know she’ll be smoking!”

“No. I quit.”

Blaine stops, freezes, looks over his shoulder at Kurt, who has his eyes trained on the table.

He swallows, and asks quietly, “Like, forever?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Until we have to give her back . . but maybe.”

Blaine grins wide at Kurt, because he can see it in his eyes, as hard as Kurt tries to deflect it. The wearing down of hard edges, the softness to his smile. He looks at their baby, their baby named after pasta, wearing a bowtie onesie and a skeleton hat, and it hurts in ways he didn’t know he could hurt. Just how much he can feel for a robotic baby who never stops crying.

But really, he thinks, maybe it’s what he feels for someone else.

“I don’t want to give her back,” Blaine whispers sadly.

Kurt turns and looks at Blaine, gives him a sad smile and says quietly, “Me neither.”

-

The rest of the week passes slowly, yet far too quickly.

On Wednesday, neither can get her to sleep. They’re both in hysterics as they pass her back and forth, each taking turns walking her around the room and singing to her. Her musical taste is questionable, quieting down for Def Leppard, crying up a storm for Queen, and Kurt won’t even let Blaine utter the name ‘Wham!’ near her or else all hell will break loose.

They wake up Thursday morning on the bed together, with Kurt flat on his back and Blaine’s head resting on his stomach, their baby sleeping in the car seat next to them.

Later that day they get into an hour long fight over how to hold the baby. It’s just a robot, Kurt knows this, but it’s supposed to be real, they’re supposed to treat it like it’s real, meaning Blaine has to support the head no matter what, and _not_ carelessly drop it just because his arms are ‘getting tired’.

Kurt gives her more tattoos. Writes the chorus of _‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’_ down her arm because that seems to be her favourite.

Blaine doesn’t wash them off.

-

Kurt doesn’t cry when they hand her back in because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, but he wants to.

The teacher glares at the both of them, mouth twisted up as she takes in the marked up baby, smudged ink up and down her arms. They’ll lose a percentage for that, he’s sure, but otherwise he fully believes they did the best they could.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” Kurt says, words slow, exhaustion finally consuming him as he collapses to their table, head resting on his folded arms. “I forget what sleep feels like.”

“Me too,” Blaine whispers hollowly, staring blankly ahead. “Every time I close my eyes I can hear her crying. I can still hear you singing to her.”

Kurt smiles faintly, cheeks turning red, trying to ignore the jump to his heart and failing miserably, just as he has this whole week.

“I don’t care what that baby thought, your George Michael impersonation was spot on,” he teases, smile morphing into a smirk.  

Blaine laughs, dropping his head. “I’ll try that one in glee club this week.”

“I’ll be sure to miss it.” Kurt laughs, muffled against the sleeves of his hoodie, then adds as an afterthought, “Sorry for nearly killing you seven hundred times.”

Blaine turns his head and looks at Kurt, eyes tired but shining, smile slow but soft.

“It’s alright,” he says, nudging his elbow off Kurt’s. “I can’t imagine being partners with anyone else.”


End file.
